


plié

by savedby



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-14 00:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12995712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savedby/pseuds/savedby
Summary: There’s not a hair out of place on Patrice’s head, not even a piece of lint on his leotard. Brad’s pretty sure his shirt has a hole in the armpit, and he curses himself for not dressing more carefully.





	plié

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Hann, a while ago and then promptly forgotten about. I thought other people might enjoy it too.

 

 

 

Brad can’t stop staring.

“He’s more built than I would have thought,” Pasta whispers to him, and Brad nods, keeps staring at the vision of loveliness in front of them.

Strong, broad shoulders taper down to a slim waist, and then to long, thick muscular legs, encased in a black leotard that shows off every muscle. “Hi, everyone,” the man says, “I’m Patrice. I’m the principal dancer for the Boston Ballet, and I’ll be teaching you all some dance moves today.”

They clap obligingly, a bunch of sweaty hockey players in stark contrast to the poised grace of Patrice and the ballerina with him, who’d introduced herself as Amanda. Brad claps the loudest, and Patrice looks over at him, their eyes meeting. Patrice smiles, slightly. Brad stares back, dumbfounded, until Patrice looks away.

There’s not a hair out of place on Patrice’s head, not even a piece of lint on his leotard. Brad’s pretty sure his shirt has a hole in the armpit, and he curses himself for not dressing more carefully.

Patrice keeps talking, about ballet and the athleticism it requires, but Brad is only half listening, stuck on his mouth, and the almost supernatural stillness of his body, muscles wrangled into submission with training and iron self-control.

“...let’s try it!” Patrice says and has them line up next to the pole. Brad ends up somewhere in the front because he’s smaller, pushes Torey in front at the last minute, knowing he won’t make a scene with the Behind the B cameras rolling. He’s right about that - all Torey does is give him a glare, before facing forward.

“So this is the first position, the plié,” Patrice says, then demonstrates. “Now you try.”

The results are, predictably, disastrous. Thick awkward hockey legs just aren’t meant to bend that way. Quaider collapses immediately and spends the next few minutes on the floor groaning piteously. The rest aren’t much better. Brad gives it his best shot, but he’s never been particularly flexible.

The only one who gets in position with no fuss is Zdeno, which is frankly insulting because his huge spider legs aren’t supposed to be that graceful. But then again, they’re all used to Z being weirdly good at the most surprising things.

They go on, circling through the positions. Brad does his best, and maybe it’s his imagination, but Patrice is by his side most often, gently coaxing his toes into pointing the right way, and adjusting Brad’s arms so they find some semblance of elegance. 

The climax of the episode is supposed to be about them getting paired with a bunch of ballerinas and learning to lift and spin them around, as hopefully no one gets hurt.

Patrice leaves for a moment and returns with a group of ballerinas and a troubled expression. “We have a problem,” he announces, “one of our ballerinas called in sick today and we haven’t got a replacement. Someone will have to pair up with me.”

As if on cue, the whole team takes a step back, leaving Brad standing alone up front. Pasta even has the nerve to push him when he doesn’t move fast enough.

Brad glares at him and then turns his most charming smile onto Patrice. “I guess I’m volunteering,” he says. Patrice smiles.

Everyone pairs up and the room fills with noise and laughter. Patrice is still smiling at him when he walks over.

“So, do I get to be the ballerina?” Brad asks, then grins smugly when Patrice laughs.

“Whatever you want, Mr Marchand,” Patrice says, and something about his name in his mouth makes Brad flush and look away.

“It’s just Marchy,” he mutters. It then occurs to him that he hadn’t actually introduced himself. “Are you a hockey fan?”

“I’m Canadian,” Patrice says like that explains everything, and actually, it does.

“Did you play?”

“A little.”

He looks almost wistful and Brad frowns. “Did you have a nickname?”

Patrice seems taken aback for a moment before he smiles. “It’s Bergy.”

“Bergy?”

“My last name is Bergeron, so.”

“Bergy,” Brad nods decisively. “Are you going to lift me up? Do I get a tutu?”

“That depends on how much you weight,” Patrice says. Brad tells him and he laughs. “Maybe not a lift, but let's try something else.”

Patrice steps up behind him and Brad holds his breath, as his big hands come down to rest on his hips.

“Do you remember the first position?” Patrice asks, speaking low into Brad’s ear.

“Yeah,” Brad says, trying hard not to choke on his tongue.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yeah,” and he does, weirdly, feels so comfortable with Patrice already.

“Do you want to go get coffee with me after this?”

That draws a startled laugh out of Brad. “Yeah,” he says, “yeah, I’d like that.”

 

 

“Okay,” he can feel Patrice smile in the displacement of air. He smells like chalk and a hint of sweat. “Now, assume the first position, bend your knees and jump.”

 

And Brad does.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have zero ballet background, so anyone in the know, feel free to advise me on terminology. I'm also lowkey considering making this a longer chaptered story, but we'll see? Let me know if you'd be interested in reading something like that


End file.
